"The dance between Ilira and Lorien is traditional," Cellica said. "Every year, she and Lady Lorien dance at the height of the ball. No two ladies are closer friends than that pair, and-so the gossip says-it's more than that." She tossed a slinky green gown over her shoulder, and the attendant barely caught it. "But never we lesser mortals mind."
Myrin blushed, though she couldn't say why.
"And who… who will Lady Ilira dress as?" Myrin asked. If she stood on her toes, she could just see the elf woman over the mirrors, surveying her salon.
"Probably no one." Cellica shook her head. "She always wears black, and lots of it," she said. "Dull, I know, but she's so elegant." She leaned in close to Myrin. "Some say she does it in mourning for a lost love, but I rather think it's to hide something. Unsightly tattoos or scars or the like. Some say she has one on her back-and that's why she never wears her own backless gowns-though I think there's a reason she always wears long gloves, let me tell you."
"How do you know all this?" Myrin asked.
"One of us has to keep up with the news in the city, and gods-know Sir Shadow isn't going to do it." Cellica shrugged into a silver gown and admired herself. "And I like gossip."
Myrin smiled and looked at her feet-thinking of Kalen.
The attendant returned with a woven basket in which lay two gowns. "If you would be pleased," she said, "the lady suggests you try these."
Cellica frowned at the gowns. "Who-?"
"Lady Ilira," said the attendant. "She saw you in the Menagerie and thought these colors and styles might serve. Fitted per your measurements. Perhaps… a happy coincidence?"
Curious, Myrin looked across the room. Lady Ilira was gone. She seemed to have vanished into the shadows. It gave her a chill.
"Ye gods." Cellica held up a scarlet gown, human-sized. She eyed Myrin devilishly.
"I don'r think-" Myrin started, but Cellica wouldn't accept such an answer. She disrobed timidly while Cellica drew on a gold gown.
Myrin had to admit the red dress looked fine. It was sleek, it was daring, and ir was bright without being gaudy. And the cut was perfect-it hugged her waiflike curves in a way that was not at all waiflike, but neither was it loose. She almost thought she looked pretty.
"Perfect for your skin!" Cellica nodded.
Myrin looked at her shimmering skin in the mirrors. In the soft lighting of the salon, it glowed a deep tan like polished betel wood. She blushed.
"The blue doesn't really serve," said Cellica. She srood on a stool, straining up to finger Myrin's shoulder-lengrh hair. Myrin flushed and tried to look away from the mirror, only to remember she was surrounded by mirrors. "It's a lovely blue, and all, but it's.. blue."
Myrin's insides tingled. "What… what would serve?"
"Well," Cellica said, "this one's an evening gown worn by the legendary Lady Alustriel of Silverymoon, who-as one of the Seven Sisters-had silver hair to her waist. If we could just get Ninea over here. Shame, as she charges such hard coin for-"
And just like that-as Myrin watched in the mirror-the scraggly blue hair spun and swam like the currents in a whirlpool. In a breath, it turned to rich, burnished silver and fell ro her waist.
Cellica's eyes widened. "Now that… that's impressive." She looked for Ninea, who had disappeared out of the store, then leaned toward Myrin to whisper. "Can you do aught for me? I'd love… I'd love a good crimson, if you wouldn't-"
"I don't even know how I did it for me." Myrin blushed. "I could try-"
"No, no!" Cellica said, turning white. "It looks too glim for such a risk. Keep it that way."
Myrin frowned. Then she realized something. "You wanted crimson? Like Fayne's hair?"
"Ha! Hark-how the day wanes!" Cellica picked nervously at the gold dress. The color flattered her well and the gown was cut with gods' eyes to show flashes of sunbrowned flesh on her slim belly. "This one, then."
She whistled, and their attendant glided over. The halfling didn't seem surprised to see Myrin's silver hair.
"I think we've decided," Cellica said, and Myrin realized she wanted to be away from the salon as soon as possible. Was it something she had said?
"Please, my lady, to have these as well," said the halfling girl, presenting two parcels bound in waxed string. "Less elegant-more practical, but fine. A gift, for gracing the Menagerie."
Cellica blushed furiously. "We can't accept these," she said.
But the attendant shook her head. "Lady Ilira mentioned aught of a debt," she said. "She spoke of a 'shadow that wards'?" She shrugged. "She said you would understand."
Cellica and Myrin shared a long, curious glance. Then the halfling smiled. "Very well, but we pay for these in full." She gesrured to her gold gown and Myrin's scarlet.
The attendant shrugged. She looked at Kalen's borrowed tunic and breeches and tried to hide her disdain behind her kerchief.
Cellica murmured a laugh. "Better just toss those out, I think."
The attendant nodded and took up the old clothes, averting her nose. Myrin watched the clothes in her arms and felt Cellica's eyes. The halfling smiled at her mysteriously.
"Cheers, peach," Cellica said, squeezing her hand. "No reason to fret-he did promise to take you to the revel, not that other stripling."
"But-"
"Kalen, for all his faults, is a man of his word." Cellica winked. "Don't you forget that!"
When Cellica turned away, Myrin wiped at her cheek and noted in the mirror a tiny blue rune on her wrist, glowing softly. It hadn't been there when she'd entered the salon, but it was there now-a bright little spot that filled her with nervous dread. It felt warm ro the touch and didn't fade no matter how long she looked at it.
Myrin looked where Lady Ilira had stood, at the back of the Menagerie, but no one was there. She saw only a shadow on the wall, which flickered away as though someone-unseen-had moved.
"Come, lass!" Cellica called. "Delay too long, and I'll just have to buy another!"
Fayne rose late the following morn, in her rooms above the rowdy Skewered Dragon in Dock Ward. She was alone, and every bit of her ached.
Awakening from reverie alone in her own bed was in itself cause for concern. She hadn't spent more than a dozen nights alone in all the years since her mother's death. She normally required only a few hours of the trancelike rest-only half what she had just spent. She must have felt truly awful, to fall into bed by herself and rest the night through.
Perhaps she had even spent some of the time in real sleep-ye gods. Maybe she was wearing a half-elPs face too much.
She recalled that the owner of the Dragon had quesrioned her gruffly when the carriage had dropped her off, but she'd waved him aside, along with the catcalls of patrons. She'd ignored the sneers of the serving girls-saucy wenches who sold their charms as openly as drinks-and managed to climb up to her chamber before collapsing into bed.
She examined the damage in the mirror. That blue-headed snip had muddled her mind, adding worry lines around her eyes and lips. She'd often wondered what it would feel like, being struck by dark magic-gods knew she'd done it often enough herself.
"Hit me with my own power, eh?" she murmured. "Children."
All in all, totally unacceptable, she thought. She set to work. She would just touch up a few details of her appearance.
She caressed the invisible pendant that hung at her throat. It faded into sight and gleamed as she harnessed the magic-complex, powerful things for which her wand was not quite suited. It wasn't that she couldn't cast the shaping rirual with the wand-it just didn't feel right to her. It was better for quick castings, particularly illusions and dark, fey-touched art. It had come from her mother, who had been a talented witch of the fey path. The amulet, on the other hand-her patron had built it precisely for this sort of ritual, which was more wizardly than warlock.